


Two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

by crayyyonn



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, Hate to Love, Kinda?, M/M, Misunderstandings, implied markjin, side jackbum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving in with Youngjae may be the best decision Yugyeom makes in his third year of grad school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [setaxis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/setaxis/gifts).



> this isn't quite what you asked for, but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> title from pink floyd's wish you were here, for no particular reason except that i listened to it on loop as i wrote this.

* * *

In retrospect, Yugyeom should have realized that everything had gone much too smoothly to be true. 

He looks at the brass numbers next to the door again, checks them against Jaebum’s text just to be sure that he’s got the right place, then shifts his glance upwards and sideways until they meet the expectant gaze leveled on him. Clearing his throat, he slides the strap of his duffel more firmly over his shoulder and sticks out a hand. 

“Youngjae-sshi, right? I’m Yugyeom. Jaebum hyung should have mentioned I was coming?” 

Youngjae doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks him up and down, suspicious and assessing, and after a few long, awkward moments, Yugyeom withdraws his hand and rubs it on his jeans. Youngjae is in an overlarge t-shirt that has clearly seen better days and sweatpants that pool at his feet, drawstrings untied, and even though Yugyeom has never met him before this, he can’t say he’s surprised. From the stories he’s heard, he’d thought Youngjae would be more of a slob. He’d been fully prepared for a nose-picking, boxer-wearing, total mess of a guy, even if he turns out to be better looking than Yugyeom pictured. 

A lot better looking. Not that he’s given too much thought about what he looks like. If at all. 

Seemingly satisfied, Youngjae steps aside and gestures for him to enter, shutting the door behind him. He follows as the man (older, Jaebum’s mentioned) leads the way to the living room. It’s not neat by any means; there’s a pile of papers on the coffee table that’s clearly been stacked together hastily, and half of a coffee mug stain on the glass top that looks like it’s been there for half a decade. Still, it’s not quite the pig sty Yugyeom expected it to be. 

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t really had the time to clean since Jaebum hyung left. I’m Youngjae.” Yugyeom smiles politely as Youngjae trails off into awkward laughter. “But you already know that. Er, so, Jaebum hyung told you about the place?” 

Yugyeom nods. “Yeah. My lease is ending soon, and when I mentioned I was looking for a place closer to campus, he told me that you were looking for a flatmate.” 

“You’re a student?” 

“Yes, grad school,” Yugyeom replies. “What about you?” 

“Oh, I’m currently between jobs,” comes the too-cheery reply, and Yugyeom has to fight the grimace threatening to take over the smile that freezes on his face. It can’t do to give him any ammunition against his application. Yugyeom is desperate, after all, and the rent Youngjae is asking for is more than reasonable. 

“Could I see the room?” he asks instead, and Youngjae perks up. 

“Of course! Let me show you around.” 

His room is at the back of the apartment, right next to the bathroom and opposite Youngjae’s. It’s modestly sized, but there’s a stretch of windows at the back that lets in the afternoon sun, and Yugyeom can already see himself doing his readings in that spot against the wall, right where the sunlight hits. 

“I’ve got the ensuite, so the bathroom’s all yours,” Youngjae is saying. “All the furniture's still in pretty good shape since Jaebum hyung didn’t live here for long, but you might want to get a new mattress anyway. He and Jackson hyung were very… active.” 

Yugyeom shudders, for he’s seen firsthand the extent of their demonstrativeness. Affection, Jackson calls it, but he personally prefers public health hazard. “I think I will,” he agrees, and Youngjae nods, telling him it’s probably for the best. 

He shows Yugyeom around the kitchen (messy) and the balcony (basically a glorified outdoor storage room), then brings him to the laundry room in the basement of the building to show him where the garbage goes. The building is an old one, so there isn’t a garbage chute, he explains. 

“The truck comes around every Wednesday, so I usually just have the trash bundled and leave it out here on Tuesday nights.” 

Yugyeom nods in understanding, and they had back up to the fifth floor. 

“So?” Youngjae asks, once they’re back in the apartment. “I know it isn’t amazing,” he continues in a rush when Yugyeom doesn’t say anything. “But hopefully it’s what you’re looking for? It’s really close to campus, and I can probably go lower on the rent for you, I just…” he trails off, fingering the hem of his shirt. “I mean, sure, I need the money, but I’m not really good with strangers so I’d rather share the apartment with a friend. I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve heard so much about you from Jaebum hyung it feels like I’ve known you for a long time, and—”

“I’ll take it,” Yugyeom cuts in, not wanting him to ramble on any longer, because it’s starting to make him feel uncomfortably sorry for the other man despite himself. “When can I move in?” 

He ignores the way his heart lightens when Youngjae smiles, too much teeth and too little eyes. It’s only because he’s no longer stressed out about his apartment situation. Obviously. 

 

Here’s what he knows about Youngjae. He was Jaebum’s underclassman and roommate at college and they’d moved in together again once they’d graduated. He hates cucumbers with a passion, a weakness that Jackson has gleefully taken advantage of many times, from the stories he’s told. And finally, despite the fact that he’s friends with nearly everyone Yugyeom knows, they’ve never crossed paths. 

And he’s never wanted to. Even without meeting him, Yugyeom already knows he wouldn't like the guy.

“When you said you knew someone who had a spare room, I didn’t think you meant your antisocial ex-roommate, hyung,” Yugyeom grouses. 

It’s two weeks since he’s moved in with Youngjae, and he’s currently parked at the campus Starbucks. Coffee still tastes gross to him even though it’s been years since he’s learned to make himself drink it, but it’s the only way to get the caffeine he needs before his next class and beggars can’t be choosers. 

Across the tiny table, Jackson laughs and leans into Jaebum, who slides an arm around him, easy and automatic. They’re disgustingly cute and it makes Yugyeom want to barf. 

“Lighten up, Gyeom, the kid may be weird but he’s actually pretty sweet.” 

“Weird? He’s a damned hermit. I’ve seen him maybe twice; once during the apartment viewing and the other when I moved in. If not for the noise coming from his room and the weird sleep singing, I wouldn’t even know if he’s alive.” Shaking his head in irritation, he turns to Jaebum. “Was he like that too when you guys lived together?” 

Jaebum chuckles. “Youngjae gets… reclusive when he’s working, but he snaps out of it eventually. I just make sure the fridge is stocked and he’ll come out for food when he’s hungry. But hey, the rent’s cheap, right? Plus it has great access. I’d never have moved out if I had a choice.” 

“Hey,” Jackson protests. “Is my apartment not good enough for you?” 

“I never said that, just… if we were living at my old place, we could spend thirty minutes more in bed in the mornings, if you get my drift.” 

His wink prompts the dirtiest smirk Yugyeom has ever seen to spread across Jackson’s face, making him grimace in distaste. He isn't awake enough for this. 

“You guys are not as cute as you think you are,” he complains as he pops the lid of his takeaway cup back on and gathers his things, ignoring Jackson's protest that they're _plenty cute, thank you very much_. “I gotta go, I’ve got a ton of readings to finish before I get back to the apartment because with Choi Youngjae singing fucking opera in his sleep, I won’t be able to get anything done.”

"He still does that?" Jackson says. "I thought he'd grown out of it."

Yugyeom leaves to the distinctive peal of high-pitched laughter and Jaebum’s totally unhelpful, “You’ll get used to it, Yugyeom, fighting!” ringing in his ears, and well, he blames himself entirely for heaping his hero worship on the wrong people when he first got to college. First thing on the agenda for the new semester: make new friends. 

 

Still, the living situation, while not ideal, isn’t as bad as he'd imagined it'd be. 

He doesn’t see Youngjae at all for the first month after moving in, which is weird at first, but he eventually gets used to it. Jaebum's stories and pseudo-warnings about nightmarish messes never come to fruition, and with time, Yugyeom begins to chalk them up to the other man's unnatural obsession with the neat and the orderly. He should have known, and mentally sends Jackson his condolences. Having roomed with the athlete in his second semester, he's pretty sure Jaebum will be driven to conniptions soon enough. 

Without much fuss, he settles into life at his new apartment, but that’s when he notices that the leftovers he leaves in the fridge are sometimes gone by the next day. It pisses him off, for he was looking forward to eating the rest of that kung pao chicken, except the bills he spies on the counter stops him on his way to hammer down Youngjae’s door. The money appears like clockwork each time the leftovers disappear, always the same amount, placed in the same spot, and doesn't stop even after Yugyeom leaves a note in its place to tell Youngjae ten bucks is way too much for something he grabbed from the deli downstairs. Against his better judgment, he starts ordering double when he gets takeout and halves what he cooks, putting it away before he eats. 

It’s only because he doesn’t want his flatmate to starve, he reassures himself. From what Jaebum’s told him, Youngjae clearly needs a keeper. So he’s not going soft, not in the least. Besides, he’s getting paid for it. He doesn’t dwell on why the money Youngjae leaves never makes it into his wallet, accumulating instead in a jar next to the stove. 

The post-it note that accompanies the money one morning with just a simple _thanks_ , however, finds its way to the cork board over his desk. 

Invisible flatmate aside, his life doesn’t change any. His schedule is still packed with classes and research labs, except he now has more time to sleep in and a shorter commute that does wonders for his disposition in the mornings. Professor Jung even comments on it once, tells him he looks cheerier and that she’s glad he’s met someone. Yugyeom’s stuttered denials don’t seem to convince her otherwise, and she strides away, red stilettos and scarlet lips imprinted like a negative film on his mind. Bambam, his lab partner, just laughs and laughs at his woefully unrequited crush. 

 

Life goes on. 

 

When he finally does see Youngjae, it’s late at night on a Tuesday. He’s just letting his stew simmer as he whips up a couple of side dishes when he hears a noise from behind, quickly followed by a brush of a shirt sleeve against his side. He almost gets a heart attack and Youngjae nearly gets brained in the head with a saucepan in the process. 

“Fucking hell, don’t creep up on me like that!” Yugyeom yells. One hand flat on his chest to calm his thudding heart, he takes in his flatmate. Youngjae is almost unrecognizable, with weeks worth of stubble lining his jaw and chin, and bags so deep the bruises around his eyes are a dark purple. “What the fuck happened to you?” 

“Coffee,” is all he gets as a reply. “I need coffee.” 

Youngjae’s voice is hoarse, cracked around the edges with exhaustion. Blindly, he reaches around Yugyeom, who sucks in a quick breath and pushes his hand away from the heating pan. 

“Watch it, dude.” Keeping a close eye on him, Yugyeom turns off the stove and moves the pan away too, just in case. “What you need is like, a week of sleep. At least.” 

“Can’t, deadline,” Youngjae says around a yawn, slumping into a nearby chair. He rubs at his eyes with both hands, childlike, and Yugyeom feels a lurch in his chest that he attributes to sympathy. After all, he’s more than familiar with deadlines and what a bitch they can be. 

“I’ll make you coffee, and food too, but only if you take a shower, man. You look like death warmed over.” 

Blinking up at him tiredly, Youngjae raises a hand to his chin, then nods. “Fine.” 

Yugyeom watches as he ambles off toward his room and turns back to the stove, shaking his head. The egg rolls haven’t burned, thankfully, so he plates them up and starts on the potato salad. By the time Youngjae returns to the kitchen, smelling like shampoo and aftershave and looking miles more human, he’s got everything set out and is just spooning perfectly fluffy rice into bowls. 

“Just a sec,” he tells him. Replacing the lid on the rice cooker, he makes his way to the table and sets the rice in front of Youngjae, who looks a little lost as he stares at the spread. 

“What is it, you don’t like stew?” Yugyeom asks. 

“N-no, I like it, I just… haven’t seen something like this in a while.” Shooting him a tiny smile, Youngjae gestures vaguely at the laden table. “It reminds me of home. Thanks.” 

Despite himself, Yugyeom flushes, pleased. “It’s just stew,” he mumbles. 

They eat in an awkward silence that’s only broken by the clinking of chopsticks against ceramic, until he finally gives in and asks in a desperate bid, “So where’s home?” 

And so Youngjae tells him about Mokpo, about the city by the sea and its verdant mountains, about eating freshly caught baby squid with uncut kimchi. About the friends he left behind. About his aging parents and his sister’s children, his nephew and niece whom he misses every day. About his brother’s upcoming marriage in two weeks’ time, which he’s stressing out about going home for. 

“Why? You’re not the one getting married.” 

“Just… they’re expecting me to bring home the guy I'm seeing. You'd think my mom would back off once I came out to them, but now she seems even more determined to see me settled down.” 

“Wait, you’re… gay?” 

The glance Youngjae slides him is carefully nonchalant. “Yes.” 

Jaebum hasn’t ever mentioned it. “Huh,” Yugyeom says, and they leave it at that. 

When they’re finished, he intercepts Youngjae to grab the bowl from his hands. “I’ve got it, you should go back to your work. Oh, and I made tea,” he indicates the pot that has been keeping warm on the stove, “It’ll do the trick. It’s much healthier for you than coffee.” 

Waving off the protests, he shoos him away before turning to the sink. The soft _thanks, the food was delicious_ makes his heart swell, which he ignores. 

After all, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s been praised for his cooking. And if it so happens that Youngjae begins to come out of his room for dinner in the evenings on the days Yugyeom cooks, when he doesn’t have late classes, or if Yugyeom begins to plan ahead for recipes more complicated than stew, it’s really only because cooking for one gets boring fast, and hey, he’s damned good in the kitchen. 

It certainly has nothing to do with Youngjae. 

 

He finds out about the music a few days later, when Youngjae knocks on his door. 

“Hey Yugyeom, do you have a minute?” 

Yugyeom looks up from where he’s got his back against the wall, just shy of the half circle of sunlight hitting the papers he’s got spread out all around him. It’s the readings for his next class, and Youngjae, upon seeing them, tells him it’s nothing and immediately makes to back out of the doorway. 

“It’s fine,” Yugyeom says, putting down his phone. It’s not like he was having a productive evening anyway; he’s been texting Bambam on KaTalk the whole time. “What’s up?” 

His encouraging smile seems to bolster Youngjae. “I don’t usually do this, but I’m kinda… Jaebum hyung is who I usually go to for stuff like this but he’s back home in Ilsan with Jackson hyung, and I just needed, I know you probably—”

“Hyung,” Yugyeom cuts in, and that’s when he realizes he’s never addressed Youngjae so familiarly before. He knows Youngjae realizes it too, from his sharp intake of breath and the pleased expression that he doesn’t hide. “Hyung, what do you need?” 

Youngjae leads him to his room, and Yugyeom whistles under his breath at what he sees. There are amps and keyboards and guitars and microphones, all hooked up to a console with what looks like hundreds of buttons, much like the recording studios he’s seen on TV. Even through his amateur eyes, he can tell that what Youngjae has is more than just to support a hobby. 

“This is what you hole yourself up in your room all day for?” he asks, taking in the set up. He’s pictured Youngjae’s room countless times—video game consoles, wall-to-ceiling manga shelves, even giant monitors with lines of hacker codes scrolling by nonstop, but never a home studio.

“I’m a composer,” Youngjae explains. “My time in the studios is limited, so I do most of my writing here.” He fiddles nervously with the sheaf of sheet music in his hands. “Would you… Jaebum hyung said you’re a dancer, so you’d be familiar with beats, could you, could you maybe, give me a second opinion on this thing I’m working on?” 

“Sure! I’d love to.” 

Nodding, Yugyeom smiles him, genuine, and is taken aback by the beam that’s sent his way. Even in a sweater two days old and finger-mussed hair, face greasy and eyes circled with exhaustion, Youngjae blinds. 

 

The music is excellent, of course, if slightly melancholic. Yugyeom isn't sure why he expected anything less. He spends most of the hour in Youngjae’s room dry mouthed and sweaty palmed, and if he can’t quite look away from the absolute peace on Youngjae's face while he plays, or the flash of collarbone from underneath stretched cotton, it’s for him to know and no one to find out. 

 

The first Saturday of April dawns with the scent of mist and rain. Groaning, Yugyeom stretches himself to wakefulness, blinking at the weak light let in by the windows. He drowsily wonders what it is that woke him up, when he’s got nothing going today and should be sleeping in. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, the sound of clanging pots and pans begin to register, in cacophonous harmony with the melody of a familiar song. 

_So you think you can tell_ , he hears, and smiles. 

Heaving himself out of bed, he throws on an old shirt and pads out of the room to wash up, then heads to the kitchen. Youngjae’s back is to him as he cooks, and while confused, Yugyeom is content to watch, until a hiss of pain interrupts the singing and jolts him out of his stupor. 

“What did you do, hyung.” 

He strides up to Youngjae, who’s turned to face him with wide eyes, his right hand clutched to his chest. There’s a bloom of red where he’s undoubtedly managed to scald himself on the heated pan. 

“Yugyeom! I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” 

_You did_ , Yugyeom wants to say, and also _it’s rare to see you out of your room_ , but he goes for neither. Instead, he grabs Youngjae’s hand and pulls him to the sink, twisting the tap to cold and sticking his hand under the running water. 

“Seriously, I knew you were a slob but I didn’t think you’d be clumsy too,” he says, tightening his grip when Youngjae makes to pull away at the slight. “Stop that, you need to cool it down or it’ll blister.” 

The struggling doesn’t cease, so Yugyeom braces his other hand on the counter, carefully avoiding the puddles of spilled pancake batter and bracketing Youngjae against the sink. The older man seems twice as tiny this way, in the half circle of his arms. They’re so close, Yugyeom can smell his hair. 

“Stop,” he repeats, lips almost brushing an exposed ear, and Youngjae stiffens. “What were you doing up so early anyway?” 

He waits patiently until Youngjae finally mutters, “Breakfast.” It makes him grin despite himself. 

“For me?” 

“I…” 

The doorbell rings, shattering the moment. Yugyeom stumbles backward when he’s pushed, and he pouts at the older man, who’s flattening his hair and looking at the botched pancakes in dismay. With a soft curse, he heads to the front door to let the visitor in.

“Hey Mark hyung,” Yugyeom hears. Turning off the stove, he follows, curious. 

The man Youngjae is hugging is slim and toned, with a shock of blond hair, impossibly tiny face, and straight white teeth that sparkle when he grins. He’s the most good looking guy Yugyeom has ever seen. Youngjae seems to agree, what with the way he’s smiling up at him. 

“Hi! You must be Yugyeom. Youngjae’s told me so much about you,” Mark says. He hands the tiny dog in his arms to Youngjae. “I’m Mark.” 

Grasping the outstretched hand, Yugyeom gives it a firm shake, ignoring the raised eyebrow he gets when he tightens his grip by several degrees more than is socially acceptable. “Hi.” 

Youngjae stops his cooing just long enough to look up at Yugyeom and say, “Mark hyung and I are Coco’s co-parents.” Ducking his head, he kisses the dog on its nose. “Princess, I’ve missed you.” 

Mark laughs, the sound low and melodic. It grates on Yugyeom's ears. “She’s missed her mom too. Right, Coco?” 

Reaching out, he scratches her behind the ears, making her twist to snuffle at his palm. Yugyeom watches as Youngjae grins sunnily up at Mark, their fingers tangling over the dog’s fur, easy and familiar. Right. 

He turns back to his room, changes, then grabs his jacket and keys. When he heads back out, Youngjae is back at the stove, with Mark next to him and Coco running around their feet. He watches as Mark says something that makes Youngjae duck his head, shy. Yugyeom doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this unguarded before.

At least, he's never been like this around him. 

Shoving down the ugly surge of—something he's definitely not thinking about, no—he clears his throat. “I’m heading out, hyung.” He waves when Youngjae looks up, just the right amount of jaunty.

“Now? But I thought you didn’t have class today? I…” he trails off, looking lost. 

“I’ve plans with a friend. Have a good day you two!” 

He flashes Youngjae a quick grin and a thumbs up, then quickly books it out the door and down the street to the cafe on the corner. It’s drizzling a little, the air wet and heavy with the smell of ozone. The dreary weather dampens the scent of spring blossoms, drowns the petals that have fallen on the sidewalk. As he walks, he crushes them under his boot too, for good measure. Right now, he can't quite tell the blue skies from pain.

 

Let it be known that while he understands, and appreciates, the use of tactics such as extreme avoidance, especially in cases of realizing that the feelings of dislike you used to hold for a person has inexplicably morphed into a raging crush, and not only that, that the very same person also has someone he’s either crushing on or dating and is most certainly co-parenting a dog with—let it be known that even so, Kim Yugyeom is miles above such tactics and will never employ them by any means, because he is a mature adult who can let it go and move on. 

“I’m not avoiding anything,” he tells Bambam as he watches his partner reenter the data from the experiment he ran late last night.

He had come in, taken one look at Yugyeom who’s squeezed in onto himself trying to fit in the tiny couch, and asked why he’s sleeping at the lab and avoiding going home for the third night in a row. Which, for the last time, he hasn’t. 

The snort he gets in response is cutting, and completely undeserved, he thinks resentfully. “I’m not! I’ve just been busy, okay? You of all people should know how insanely tight our deadlines are.” 

Bambam just rolls his eyes, not even deigning his protest with a reply. He clicks compute, a little more forcefully than he needs to, Yugyeom thinks privately, then wheels to the printer as it begins to spit out the results. Yugyeom can tell with just a glance that they’re completely different from what he’s gotten last night, closer to those they’d gotten from a similar set of data. Ergo, completely wrong, which Bambam helpfully pointed out when Yugyeom had presented them earlier. Sheepish, he accepts the new printout. 

“Here. Make sure you revise the report too. And fix it soon, whatever it is, avoidance never solves problems. Do it for a fresh change of clothes, if nothing else.”

“Not avoiding,” he sing-songs. Bambam just levels him a look before striding out, coat tails of his lab coat swishing behind him. 

He tells Jaebum the same when he later asks, carefully concerned, if he and Youngjae had fought. 

“I don’t know what happened, Youngjae wouldn’t tell me, but if you’d just give him a chance, Yugyeom, he can be a really good friend.” 

Except the problem was he didn’t want to just be friends with Youngjae, but it’s not like he wants to tell Jaebum that, so he just nods, nose dangerously close to the marshmallow cloud floating on top of his mug. He should have known the instant Jaebum set the drink down that it wasn’t the innocuous catch up he’d texted him for, but Yugyeom was blindsided by the siren call of chocolate. He hasn’t had one in ages, after all. 

“We’re fine, hyung,” he says. “Really, Youngjae hyung’s a great flatmate.” It sounds hollow even to his ears, and he takes a sip of his drink so he doesn’t have to look Jaebum in the eyes. 

The older man sighs. “Just… work it out with him, okay? He seemed really bummed about it when we met the other day.” He kicks Yugyeom lightly in the shin. “He’s very precious to me, and if he’s been wallowing because of you, I’ll kick your ass.” 

Unimpressed, Yugyeom says, “You’ll have to catch me first, old man.” He sticks out his tongue at him then slides his chair backward, just in time to move out of range of Jaebum’s second, undoubtedly more vicious kick. 

“Who are you calling old, you brat,” Jaebum shoots back, but there’s no bite behind it and Yugyeom grins.

 

He ends up standing outside the door for long minutes before finally keying in the code and stepping in. It’s been half a week since he’s been back and his locker in the break room at the lab has finally run out of spare clothes, but nothing at the apartment has changed, as far as he can see. He’s not exactly sure why he was expecting it to. 

There’s light coming from the kitchen, so Yugyeom drops his backpack by the couch and makes his way toward it, light footed. His efforts were unnecessary though; the kitchen is empty save for Coco, who’s racing maniacally around on the tiled floor. At his arrival, she cocks an ear and runs across to him, skittering to a stop to sniff at his feet. She yips once, then whines until Yugyeom leans down to pick her up. 

“Hey there princess,” Faced with such an adorable creature, the endearment comes naturally. “Where’s your mommy?” 

With the dog in his arms, he heads to the back of the apartment. Youngjae’s door is slightly ajar, and Yugyeom hesitates a little, not quite sure what he’ll see behind it. He shushes the part of his mind that conjures up a certain slender blond and pushes it open. 

“Hyung?” He stops in his tracks. “What are you doing?” 

“Yugyeom! You’re back?” 

Youngjae blinks in surprise to see him, straightening from where he was emptying a drawer. He smiles, but the ten paces between him and Yugyeom doesn’t hide his fluster, or the way he’s fisting the hem of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Yugyeom repeats, with a touch of distress. 

He doesn’t like what he’s seeing, doesn’t like the clothes shoved haphazardly into the suitcase, doesn’t like what it spells. Even if Youngjae is pissed at him, or hates rooming with him, it’s his apartment. He can’t just move out. He doesn’t realize he’s said the last bit out loud until Youngjae tilts his head, confused. 

“Move out? What do you mean?” Understanding dawns when Yugyeom cants his chin at the mess on his bed. “Oh, no, I’m packing for a trip home. My brother’s wedding, remember?” 

“Oh.” Yugyeom feels every inch of the flush rising to color his ears. Of course. As if needing to get away from the secondhand embarrassment, Coco squirms in his arms to be let down and runs straight for Youngjae. 

Shooting him a tiny smile, Youngjae pets Coco a little, then continues folding the shirts laid out on the bed. “Yeah, I’m leaving on Friday and I’ll be gone for the weekend. How are things at school? You seemed busy this past week.” 

“Yeah, kinda. We had to repeat one of our experiments. Faulty data.” 

It’s not a lie, he tells himself, even if the reason he had to repeat said experiments was due to his inability to focus. When Youngjae winces in sympathy, he puts on an appropriately cheerless expression. 

He excuses himself to shower, grinning as Coco trots after him, to Youngjae’s very vocal dismay which quickly turns into a mock show of offense at him saying Coco probably finds him nicer smelling, even after a whole day out and about. He outright laughs when his flatmate turns to plaintive whining about how Coco is _his_ dog, damnit. Jaebum must have been mistaken; there’s no sign of Youngjae feeling anything, bummed or otherwise, about Yugyeom’s unexplained absence. 

It makes him feel just a little bit wretched, so he tries his hardest not to think about it.

 

They decide on take out for dinner, one of the restaurants whose flyers ended up in their mailbox. It’s between bites of _tang su yuk_ and _jajangmyeon_ that Youngjae asks, in a throwaway manner, if Yugyeom would mind taking care of Coco while he’s away. She’s no trouble, he promises earnestly, and barring a propensity to poop in unsuspecting shoes, a really sweet puppy. 

Yugyeom shrugs. “Sure, but I thought you’d be bringing her back with you and Mark?” 

“Mark?” Youngjae echoes, bemused. “Mark hyung’s in LA. He left the day you met him. That’s why he brought Coco over.” 

“Oh... you're not bringing him to the wedding?”

"Why would I?"

He ducks his head. "Aren't you seeing him," he mumbles into his food, and  Youngjae takes a second to parse it before huffing in amusement. 

“No way, Jinyoung hyung would kill me,” he says. “What, you thought we were dating?” 

Yugyeom just nods, mind trying to reconcile what Youngjae is saying with what he'd thought as truth all along. It’s met by a loud guffaw, and he looks up to see Youngjae’s eyes curled into crescents, mouth wide with laughter. Yugyeom is suddenly struck by the realization that he’s never heard Youngjae laugh before. It’s a sound he thinks he wouldn’t get tired of hearing. 

“Gosh,” Youngjae finally says when he quietens. “A guy like Mark hyung, date me?” He shakes his head incredulously, though a smile still plays at his lips. 

“I don’t see why not,” Yugyeom blurts, voice sounding defensive even to his own ears, and he fights the blush he knows is rising. “You’re great. I’d date you.” 

He’s not quite sure if the choked gurgle comes from Youngjae, in surprise, or himself, from nerves. He doesn’t know what prompted him to say that to Youngjae either, except that now that it’s out there, he refuses to take it back. His heart thuds, threatening to rend his chest apart even as his gut squeezes in on itself. It’s unnerving, but he doesn’t shift his gaze away from Youngjae’s. 

“You’re… you’re joking, right?” The other man finally says, all traces of mirth gone. “I mean, you don’t even like me. Don’t joke about things like this, Yugyeom.”

His words come out hushed and shaky, and it must be the youth in Yugyeom that makes him burn with the sudden need to make it real, turn the offhand comment into a proposition. Youngjae's uncertainty solidifies his resolve, and all at once, Yugyeom thinks he wants this with all his heart. He might have for a while now. 

“I’m not.” Food forgotten, he puts his chopsticks down with deliberate movements, clenches his palms into fists on his thighs. “I didn’t use to at first, it’s true, but these things change, right? I really want to, hyung.” 

“I…” 

“I have it on good authority that I make a really good boyfriend. You can ask Jaebum hyung, if you don’t believe me.” He gamely tries for levity, even though his stomach is still fluttering anxiously as he braces for rejection.

A beat passes, then two. 

“Are you saying you dated him?” 

“What? No! God, no. I just meant, I’ve known him a long time, and he’s known me, and he was the one who, it’s not, we’ve never—” He stops when he sees the smirk Youngjae isn't even trying to hide, whining, “Aw, hyung!” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Youngjae half laughs, though he quickly sobers up at Yugyeom's silent question. “I’m not saying it’s a yes, but… I guess we can try?” 

Yugyeom nods, fervent. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

Throat tight, he reaches across the table with a hand, palm up. It takes a moment, but then Youngjae's hand inches across the table to take it and squeezes. It's clammy and more than a little bit cold, and Yugyeom feels his chest constrict in time with the gentle pressure before expanding, and he can finally breathe again.

"Besides, this way, you'll have someone to bring home to the wedding, finally get your family off your back." 

Youngjae laughs. “Good thinking. But it means you'll have to stick around for the long haul now. My mom can be persistent."

"Don't think I'll have a problem with that."

The grin Youngjae directs at Yugyeom is bright and Yugyeom beams back, happiness bubbling in his chest. He’s pretty sure this is the start of something wonderful. 

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEPVqJjMiAc) is what youngjae sings while making pancakes. 
> 
> thanks to my cheerleader p for the quick and dirty beta job, and for listening to me whine and be annoying about this forever, you're the light in my darkness and the marshmallow on my chocolate ilu ♥


End file.
